A night to remember

This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical facts, any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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February ninth was an unusual day. A day I thought I’d be at peace with my unsettling and briskly increasing desire for her. One that she brought into existence after months of trading words; and amplified when we first met in a part of the city that was steadily becoming unpeopled, as it got irradiated by the satellite that made us retire from a hard laboring day. Finally, the day to authenticate that my words weren’t shagged that couldn’t be supported by actions had arrived. Words I intended to separate from the word impossible, by manifesting that they can also be performed. A mindset that should have hyped me, but instead I found myself questioning my own thoughts and bravery.

Can you really do this? It can’t be as hard as learning the butterfly stroke. Is it? Maybe it isn’t, I thought. My mind was filled with redundant thoughts that made me quiz my stifling grit. Increasing my mouse like behavior to Dobby’s from Happy Potter’s. I detested the fact that my qualities weren’t an utter contrast to that feeble, unpleasant looking creature. Not that I was unpleasant to look at. The only unpleasant thing about me was that I was very unpleasantly elsewhere; if not comparable to a feral beast. But no matter how much I detested it. I couldn’t stop myself from being in Dobby’s uncleaned body-covering pillowcase garment. Not until I grew a pair of balls to fulfill my desire no matter at what price it came.

“I thought you said 7 PM. Maybe you should award me with something in return for waiting two long hours and a few minutes without getting aggravated,” I slurred, as I prepared a plan to trick her. But instead I found myself incapable of acknowledging the existence of the people who came to learn how to swim. My title as a swimming instructor faded along with my consciousness. It felt as if I was there, but at the same time nonexistent. Like I was Maladaptive, positive constructive and guilty-dysphoric daydreaming all at once—which created something sublime. It made me relish my absence. She was without a doubt unparalleled and an ideal distraction, if I may say so. Time was the only thing that fueled the distance between us and our second meeting. Well, her “boyfriend” also played a little part. But she never spoke as if she cared that much about him, nor did I care about his status, or hers. All I cared about was finding a way to snatch her away from that unknown man. I impatiently waited on time – it steadily came to a brief stop as time itself seemed impatient to see the twilight. A moment I craved to see with her.

“Hey,” I messaged her at 4:58 PM. “I was about to message you,” I added, as an attempt to shield my impatience with pure stupidity.

“I’m in class right now. Where will I find you after 7?” she inquired. For a few hurried seconds I felt as if I was the world fast typist, Sean Wrona, as my fingers touched the virtual keyboard on my phone screen.

“Same place as last time, and my phone is about to go off,” I replied.

“See you.”

I paid more attention to time than I did to the people who were in the pool. In my eyes, the only important thing was not missing my chance to meet her again. After all, opportunities like this were rare for me. After a few minutes that seem like hours—I hurried everything that needed to be done, before abandoning my coworkers.

“I am at the place” I texted her on arriving. I waited for her response in hope she’d be somewhere nearby, but she responded with nothing more than an Okay; which utterly ravaged my expectations. Maybe she canceled on me and decided it might be funny to leave me waiting until the street lights came on, I thought as I gazed at my dimmed phone screen.

“Tell me when you’re coming as soon as you’re able too, because my phone is about to go off,” I sent her, as I got beaten by impatience and concern.

“Come on, answer my damn message already. My phone is going to go off any minute now,” I shouted, while I looked fixedly at my screen. Making myself look as if I was going bonkers; and finally an answer came.

“I’m coming now,” she replied. But as soon as the message arrived, my phone instantly went off before I could even respond.

My legs and shoulders were suffering greatly. There wasn’t a single spot my butt could have occupied and comfort, and I wasn’t going sit, nor lay my backpack on the filthy floor. As hours went by, my legs and shoulders grew wearier and wearier. I watched as the natural light vanished and the artificial ones came on. I monitored the area swifter than any camera could. Gazing at every passersby wishing she’d not done what I thought she had. But after a few seconds I quickly discarded the thought as I spotted a girl with a mixture of long black and gold hair, hastily approaching me with a jacket slung over her left forearm.

Her glossy lips enticed me with their shininess. I wanted to devour them, but I chose to go with the lesser horny approach. I let my desire eat away at me, as my mind was steadily being polluted by the thought of desiring her more than a friend. After a few minutes of an awkward staring competition, she said, “Hey.” As much as I wanted to be genuine and let my feelings roam freely I couldn’t. I gazed into her eyes and replied, “Hey.” Which was then followed by a quick hug, if not the quickest hug yet unregistered in the Guinness Book of World Records. A hug I wished lasted long enough to crush the exiting Guinness World Record for the longest hug ever recorded. As I departed utterly disappointed she voiced, “I thought we were going to hangout for a while.”

“We are,” I reassured her quickly. We decided we’d hang out at a park that was only a few minutes away from our meeting place. As we approached the green discolored bench near an unusable phone booth, I began to act unseemingly. No matter how much I tried to act normal, I simply couldn’t. My mind was utterly devoured by abominable thoughts, and she was the one to blame. I know someone can’t be held accountable for one’s own actions and unsettling “desires.” But it wasn’t all my doing. She made it absolutely impossible not to gaze at her lustrous lips, puffed up chest and her noticeable plumped butt. Perchance she purposely made her lips irresistible and walked alongside me all this time – close enough that our arms kept banging each other just to tempt me. To make me feel like someone who’s unable to contain his feral side. Was she? Maybe not. Maybe I was simply traversing a border that wasn’t meant to be crossed.

The thought of our lips hungrily consuming each other – entrapping her upper lip with my teeth, while grasping her plumped butt made me nervous. I began talking about unnecessary things. Things that made her lift her eyebrow in deep confusion. I knew she had noticed that I didn’t know what to do, or how to act. The thing is, I wasn’t the type of guy who’d jump out of an airplane, or jump off a fort-three meter bridge with a bungee attached to his feet. That required balls, but mine were safely tucked away between my legs. I wasn’t bold enough to express my thoughts to her. How she was very much enticing and how I can’t stop thinking about the pleasurable moment we were going to have, or could have. It began to eat away at me more than my desire to press my lips against hers without any type of gesture.

We made it appeared as if light itself was our greatest foe and darkness our formidable ally. Well, that’s what I made it seem like since I was the one who chose the secluded bench. I gazed at her silently, nevertheless she said nothing, and I wasn’t going to ask if she hated the fact that we were about to be engulfed by darkness. Although I wanted to sit somewhere she desired; she didn’t utter a single word and I wasn’t going to ruin my one percent chance of me perhaps getting something from her, or slithering my way into her heart. It was the only way to successfully proceed with the thoughts that roamed my mind. And to do so, I needed to hid ourselves away from the view of any and every passersby.

I secretly examined her frame as she rid her shoulder from her messenger bag and placed it on the bench. I would be lying if I said I didn’t act like a man in need. Not that I wasn’t. I was beyond in need of her body and lips. I gazed at her well shaped butt before I continued to scrutinize the remaining aspects she had to offer. I was getting heated—I wanted to explore her physique. It was now or never—I hurriedly unchained my shoulders from its torment as and sat down. I guess going to work with a gallon of water and clothes was just a burden. Her facial expression was very noteworthy. It seemed as if she knew what I was planning. It felt as if she was able to read my mind and execute what I was thinking about before I even uttered a word, or showed any gesture. The thought of her calling me a pervert wasn’t far off. The way I looked at her; and the fact that I decided that we should ensconced ourselves on a bench that scarcely had light was evidence enough.

I gazed into her brown orbs with eyes that screamed, I want to have my way with you right here and right now. Perhaps she was aware of my ill-natured desires, or maybe she didn’t because she quickly averted her eyes and acted diffidently. “I love you. I really do,” I uttered, but she was unresponsive. She turned to face me with eyes that appeared like they were ready to read my lips – I said it again in an inaudible way, as a gesture with my eyes, yet she remained the same. “Maybe one day you’ll want to be with me. Maybe you’ll see things the way I’ve been seeing them,” I said, before smiling at her. She didn’t mouth a single word. Instead she shook her head as if in disappointment, like the possibility of it actually happening, was never.

“I wonder if she’ll hate me if I do those things?” I asked myself, as I attempted to be slick. Many grimy thoughts surfaced, but only a few seemed possible. At first it did, but then the percentage of it actually being successful dropped instantly when she uttered, “I can’t love you. I don’t know what to do. I love him so much.” She know exactly what I wanted and had agreed to spend hours with me in a blackish area at the park. And yet she had the heart to utter such words. I had no idea she was an indecisive person. Especially one who knew your intentions, but continued to make them seem possible—when in reality they were not. I knew I was getting involved in something that’d have led to me getting hurt, or maybe something beyond that. But I couldn’t stop myself. I was already attached. I knew I was rushing everything and that I only saw it one way and not the other.

I forced questions upon her that resulted in her saying things that she didn’t want to say. I ignored her words and pushed her until her back rested on the armrest of the bench, making it somewhat possible to canoodle her. I slithered my hand through the gap of her yellow button down shirt and attempted to fondle the breasts that I’ve dreamt of seeing. I unzipped her skirt and sluggishly slipped my right hand down that very entrance and grasped the butt I’ve only seen in the pictures she’d sent me. And kissed the lips she’d used to taunt and torture me with. It was a moment I secretly wished, begged and pleaded to continue, but ended with a goodbye and a bestowed kiss upon the forehead. I’d give up anything to have a night like that again. A night I got to display a side of me I wished she’d let me show her behind closed doors; if given the opportunity to let my hands roam freely over her naked body; and through her long black and gold hair.

The memory we created that night keeps on replying in my head over and over again and I can barely function because of it. A memory that routinely causes me anguish instead of allowing me to glorify the minuscule minutes I spent with her. A memory that I can’t seem to let go of no matter how many times I’ve tried. I know that I can be a good companion at times, or sometimes melodramatic and every so often a deviant guy who’s undoubtedly insecure. Who solely sought to be loved by her. A girl who’ve tried her best to rid the feelings that I’ve confessed occasionally and proclaimed that it wasn’t fictional, because she had a man she was madly in love with and was willing to sacrifice anything to spend her life with. I hated the fact that she loved him so damn much. I wished for his absence more than I wished for a successful future.

I was, if not still one of her biggest enthusiast. One of the lowest status; one that was utterly blinded by the thought of her actually having feelings for him; one that got addicted to her day by day as if she was nicotine every time we conversate. I slowly became an addict who sought her attention. There hasn’t been a single night that I haven’t dreamed about kissing those lips again. Or caressing her ravishing body while she finally utters the words I’ve been wanting to hear so desperately; as I propel what she has caressed and made throb nonstop on that night when she pressed her plumped butt against me. Five times – that’s how many times I stole the kisses she’d been saving for him. A man who has seen her completely unclothed more than I’ll ever do in my lifetime. A sight I would honestly die to see. “Stop stealing kisses,” I remembered she said in a fainted voice, as she rejected and accepted me at the same time.

I knew deep down she wanted my kisses, warmth and desired my hands to roam her body more than I wanted it to. As much as she didn’t want to admit, her body did so proudly. After our seamy night, she distanced herself from me and stripped me of my status. Our friend came to an instant end. She stopped responding to my messages and she ceased the feelings she never wanted to admit. I guess it was nothing more but a casual mistake. She made me feel like I was needed and wanted, but I wasn’t from the beginning. The night I spent with her in that gloomy park, hidden away from the gaze of passersby, on a light green painted bench near an unusable phone booth. It’s a night I’ll forever remember and regret. The night I killed the beginning of a friendship we had for years.